The Bodyguard
by waatp
Summary: A mega rich and slightly self indulgent DJ and actress suddenly finds herself in need of a full time Bodyguard ... but she doesn't know it. A former Secret Service Agent turned consultant protector hates the limelight, the rich and famous but is compelled to do what's right. What happens when they find themselves thrust together and have to make their working life mesh? AU Jeca.
1. No Smoke Without Fire

**A/N - Watching this film recently inspired me to write this FanFiction based on The Bodyguard. The whole way through I could just see Beca and Jesse playing these parts. I hope you enjoy my take on it :)**

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><p><strong>.o0o. Chapter One - No Smoke Without Fire .o0o. <strong>

**_Daly City - A Parking Garage, Level 3_**

The dark, dirty underground parking garage proved to be the perfect place for the ambush.

The single, bare bulb, hanging haphazardly just above the rusting pipes, flickered and swayed as the rumble of traffic ahead caused the ceiling to shake. The constant drip, drip, drip of water sounded loud and eerie as the echo of two sets of footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

"Get down!"

The sharp, urgently hissed command from the younger man was adhered to immediately and both men dropped to a crouch behind the large, black SUV that had been parked at a particularly odd angle; almost as if the driver had been in a hurry to get out. The older of the two men looked afraid and placed his hands on the ground to steady himself while the younger man drew the Browning handgun from his chest holster and raised it straight out in front of him; his arm locked and his hand steady and unwavering.

"Is _he_ … here?" The hushed, smooth voice of the older, long silver haired man broke through the intensity as the brown haired guy in the well cut and expensive suit put his finger to his lips and motioned for him to be quiet and still.

A metallic _ping_ behind the two men had the armed bodyguard spinning immediately to his left and without even a warning shout or a second too long to process, he fired off three shots into the gloomy space, hitting his target definitively in the chest.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Both men watched as the body, clad in a blue boiler suit and ski mask fell to the ground, clearly felled in an instant. His eyes remain locked onto the older man as the life drained away from him, small bubbles of blood popping at the corner of his mouth as the bodyguard kept his Browning trained onto the motionless body.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, punching in numbers before speaking quietly into the mouthpiece.

"It's done. It's over. Call the police."

**.o0o.**

**_San Francisco - Bainbridge Enterprises, Top Floor_**

Later that night, in a small, dark and heavily wood panelled office, the two men sat opposite each other on soft leather chairs. The small table lamp between them the only light in the room.

The older man, Arthur Bainbridge; a wealthy businessman with connections to Congress sat forward in this chair, nursing a large glass of Glenfiddich 1955; a bottle rumoured to be worth well over $100,000. He looked down at his hands and was fairly surprised to see the violent shake in his fingers.

"Your hands ever shake, Jesse?" He asked the man opposite him.

"Sometimes." Jesse Swanson said as he smoothed down the front of his fresh, dark grey suit having changed from the previous one he wore earlier that evening as it was covered in car oil and diesel. "It's just adrenaline."

"How did you know he was there? The man that's been threatening me to kill me for weeks."

"I saw him washing the car." Jesse said, relaxing for the first time in months as the slivers of fatigue tugged at the corners of his eyes.

"Yes, I did as well but how–"

"-Well, for a start they don't wash cars on the parking levels and secondly, who washes cars at nine thirty at night in a ski mask."

Arthur chuckled and took a healthy gulp of the cool liquid in his cut crystal glass. He enjoyed the burn in his throat for a moment longer than necessary and ran his fingers through his hair. He set the glass down on the small, mahogany table to his left and picked up a long envelope, holding it out to Jesse who leaned forward to take it in his fingers.

"I'd like you to stay on Jesse. Become part of my core staff."

"The threat is over Arthur."

"But still, there is always-"

"-I'm not good in a permanent position, my feet go to sleep. I get lazy and sloppy."

"I'll be disappointed to see you leave Jesse. I owe you my life."

Both men stood, and Jesse discretely folded the envelope, slipping it into his inner suit pocket. They shook hands, nodding at each other before Jesse left the office silently, closing the door quietly behind him on Arthur and on the assignment he'd spent the past four months on. Arthur returned to his whiskey, grateful for Jesse's expertise and experience.

**.o0o.**

**_Culver City - Ashcroft Building, Apartment 605_**

The rubber gloved hand was steady as it painstakingly and slowly snipped the letters and words from the large pile of glossy magazines and papers on the desk in front of the neat stack of white sheets of paper. The large, shiny, silver scissors meticulously cut each letter out before running the glue stick over the back of the cut-out and placing it carefully and neatly on the half composed letter.

_YOU BITCH – YOU HAVE EVERYTHING. I HAVE NOTHING!_

_YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME._

_I HATE YOU! HOW COU_

The words were harsh and prominent against the clean, white paper and the writer was waiting to fill the rest of the paper with more venom as the music channel switched over to play the latest hits from all the fresh new talent from the last year. The song that begun to play filled the room and despite the heat, it sent shivers down the spine of the occupant inside followed by boiling anger as the soft melody echoed against the walls and the heartfelt words ignited a rage like never before.

To anyone else the song, sung beautifully by one of the world's most popular and young, up and coming artists, was simply about a mothers love for her child.

_In my daughter's eyes I am a hero  
>I am strong and wise and I know no fear<br>But the truth is plain to see, she was sent to rescue me  
>I see who I wanna be in my daughter's eyes<br>In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal  
>Darkness turns to light and the world is at peace<br>This miracle God gave to me gives me strength when I am weak  
>I find reason to believe in my daughter's eyes<br>And when she wraps her hand around my finger  
>Oh it puts a smile in my heart<br>Everything becomes a little clearer  
>I realize what life is all about<br>It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough  
>It's giving more when you feel like giving up<br>I've seen the light; it's in my daughter's eyes  
>In my daughter's eyes I can see the future<br>A reflection of who I am and what will be  
>Though she'll grow and someday leave, maybe raise a family<br>When I'm gone I hope you see how happy she made me  
>For I'll be there in my daughter's eyes <em>

The words and song angered the writer so much so that a small bubble of blood popped from a nostril, snaking it's way over a lip and splashed soundlessly on to the monogrammed shirt that had seen better days.

"I _hate_ you."

These were the only words spoken in the room for the rest of the day.

**.o0o.**

**_Hollywood - Grauman's Chinese Theatre, Kerbside_**

The chanting of the crowd surrounding the Grauman's Chinese Theatre could be heard from inside the limousine as it travelled sedately along Hollywood Boulevard and entered Hollywood and Highland. The driver, a happy go lucky blonde in her late twenties, was mildly distracted by the flurry of text messages steaming onto her phone and narrowly missed two pedestrians as they stepped into the path of the vehicle with their cameras poised to get a stolen snapshot of the occupants of the limo.

"What's tomorrow?" The small brunette in the back seat asked, leaning forward as she took a large mouthful of icy cold water from the bottle in her hand, wiping her chin slightly as the car lurched to the left which caused the smallest of spills. "What have I been roped into?"

"Charity Concert preparation." The brisk, curt reply was as expected from the uptight blonde as was the instant answer. "We'll need to leave at ten thirty at the latest."

"Great." The brunette deadpanned as she adjusted the strap on her silver cocktail dress and twisted one of the rings on her finger. "Chloe, are Brynn and Bowen with you tomorrow?"

"Yes, Beca." Chloe Beale said quietly, sitting on the seat opposite from her best friend of 23 years. "We'll be at the house until their play date at 4pm at the Millers."

"Great." Rebekah 'Beca' Mitchell said and quickly sent a smile in the direction of the redhead, remembering her manners. She inclined her head slightly towards the uptight blonde. "Aubrey, I need you to schedule me some proper time with my children the day after."

"I'm not sure you'll have time." Aubrey Posen spoke urgently, pulling the small tablet from her pocket. She punched at the screen for a moment or two as the driver pulled up outside the theatre and lowered the screen divider catching the end of the conversation. "You have quite a busy schedule until-"

"-It wasn't a request." Beca grumbled as the vehicle came to a stop. Aubrey nodded, trying to hide her frustration.

Through the windows, not only could the sounds of cheering and chanting of the large group of fans be heard but the flashing from camera and phones almost blinded the occupants. The banging on the windows and roof of the limousine made everyone jump, especially Aubrey and Chloe who looked to each other in a manner that went completely over Beca's head. That was as intended; they were paid to keep her safe.

The sound of a voice speaking over the throng filtered through the noise of the crowd as the female driver jumped out of the car and quickly moved to the back door, pausing for a second before she pulled on the handle, popping the lock with enthusiastic gusto.

"Who do we have here?!" The synthesised voice echoed around the street. "It looks like ... yes, I think it ... oh yes, here she is folks; it's four time Grammy award, two Golden Globe, three Emmy and one time Academy Award winner not to mention multi platinum award owner of course, it's our BAFTA nominated, Billboard Beauty, songwriter, singer and darling actress ... Becaaaaaaaaa Miiiiiitchell!"

Beca resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the rather unnecessary introduction as she stepped out of the back of the car and thanked Amy Wilson, her driver for the past year, before turning to the crowd and waving with mock enthusiasm and happiness. The crowd went wild and surged forward immediately and Beca tried to shield herself the outstretched hands from touching her. It was always the same and while she didn't want anyone's hands on her and actually touching her, she secretly did crave the attention she received from the people on the street.

"Hello!" She called out to the crowd as her personal assistant Aubrey alighted from the car, followed by her ever smiling best friend, Chloe. She looked towards the front of the car as the fifth occupant; her personal bodyguard popped up the front door and lazily poked a foot out of the car, tucking the last of his sandwich into his right cheek as he turned to close the door behind him and almost sashayed towards Beca.

He'd been employed by the superstar for the past five years and while he acted like a slob most of the time, Bumper Allen wasn't afraid to step up and slug anyone who got in his charge's way when the time and occasion called for it. It wasn't a well kept secret that, in the beginning, he had had a severe crush on the delectable pin up which had over the years turned into an almost overwhelming need to protect her from everyone.

He reached Beca and stood a little in front of her, clearing a path for her to walk through, parting the crowd easily.

"How are y'all doing!" Beca called out and the crowd roared as she pushed through the people, signing whatever was thrust into her face. People grabbed at her, snapping photos and yelling into her face, calling out her name and asking questions. Gifts were pressed into her hands; dolls, bears, boxes of candy, letters, presents for her twins, flowers and jewelry.

She thanked each fan for their gifts and cards, smiling genuinely and broadly as she passed all the things she was given to Aubrey who clutched everything close to her, juggling the amount of things she'd been passed as they made their way up the steps to the theatre. Beca turned at the top and waved to the crowd as the entourage all passed through the door, enjoying the resounding bang as it shut heavily behind them. The smile dropped off her face as she turned to Bumper.

"Fuck sake, you gotta stop them from touching me Bump. They had their grubby hands all over me."

"I tried Beca." Bumper said lamely as Aubrey handed Chloe and Amy; who had joined them from the side entrance after parking the limo in the underground car park, all of the fans' gifts. She pushed Beca towards the green room door to get ready for her set on stage. Beca was used to Aubrey clucking around her and made no attempt to argue with her.

Chloe shrugged her shoulders at Amy as they set everything down onto the table by the green room door and went off in search of a box to collect up everything Beca had been given to put into the back of the limousine before they left for the night. Chloe maintained an impassive face as she walked past the green room door and just fixed a small smile on her lips as Amy began to rant about how insane the whole media attention was and how well recognised Beca Mitchell was.

Amy turned and caught sight of Bumper leaning up against the wall outside of the green room and made her excuses to Chloe so she could rejoin Bumper; neither of them admitting that there was a mutual attraction between the two of them.

Chloe had just left the corridor by the green room when an almighty bang resounding throughout the ground floor of the Grauman Chinese Theatre. Amy and Bumper dropped to their knees as the handmade replica DJ Beca Mitchell doll that Beca had _just_ been given outside; pressed into her hand by a very enthusiastic fan who wanted to rub his groin into her hip, suddenly exploded just four feet away from them sending showers of glass and plaster in all directions.

**.o0o.**

**A/N - Song used is "In My Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride**


	2. I'll Protect You (Hands Off The Goodies)

**A/N - Releasing my chapters unbeta'd at the minute so sincere apologies for any mistakes I didn't catch.**

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><p><strong>.o0o. Chapter Two - I'll Protect You (Hands Off The Goodies) .o0o. <strong>

**_Santa Monica - Suburban Home_**

Jesse Swanson absentmindedly stirred a large pot of Boeuf Bourgignon on the stove, in his non-descript kitchen of his non-descript house on his non-descript street.

He'd arrived home three hours ago, flicked on the television and unpacked his bags, squaring everything away where it should be within twenty minutes. He lit a fire in the small fireplace waiting for the warmth to seep through the small, two bedroom home he'd owned. he rubbed his hands together and held them over the spitting fire before rising to collect the mail that had collected by the door. Without looking at any of it, he stacked it neatly into a pile and carried to the fireplace, tossing it onto the crackling flames before turning his attention to dinner.

There was nothing on the television that he wanted to watch and he practically growled at the flickering channels showing commercial after commercial. He didn't want to watch useless celebrities fawn over each other at yet another made up award ceremony. He'd dug around in the freezer, not wanting to order takeout or leave the house for something to eat. He'd popped a bottle of beer and began to cook, using his mothers' recipe as a guide.

Testing a piece of the meat, he tucked the magazine he was reading under his arm before carrying the entire pot over to the small, rickety table with a place setting for one. He set it carefully down and sat, using the wooden spoon to eat directly from the pot. He cricked his neck a couple of times, popping the gas bubbles in his spine. The last job had been intense and Bainbridge had moved around the world a lot. He was happier now that his check was deposited in the bank and he had a few weeks' worth of free time to do whatever he wanted. He was officially off the clock and he was celebrating with a bottle of expensive red wine.

He hadn't anticipated a knock on his door at six o'clock the next morning.

Jesse opened the door with a face like thunder. The house was supposed to be his safe haven and he didn't want to be bothered with cold callers and people asking for directions. He stood with a set of sunglasses perched on his face, the after effects of two bottles of expensive Merlot from the night before taking their toll and he was face to face with a harassed but kindly looking lady with shockingly bright pink hair.

"Cynthia Rose Adams." She said, handing over her card. "I represent Beca Mitchell."

**.o0o. **

An old-fashioned lawn sprinkler lazily waved over the grass at the back of Jesse's house. The garden was unkempt and overgrown with a few random wooden posts poking out of the ground. Jesse sat in a lawn chair, sipping from a tall glass of something fizzy while Cynthia Rose paced about in front of him.

She knew the conversation was not going well and she was throwing every trick in her book to get the man in front of her to agree to her terms and what she needed him to do.

"So, you won't protect Beca Mitchell just because she's in show business?" She asked, slotting her hands on her hips and turning to face Jesse straight on.

"I don't do celebrities." Jesse said simply. "They are annoying and conceited, rude and demanding and I just don't need the hassle from those assholes."

"But the biggest money's in show business people."

"I don't care. I cannot abide their whiny attitudes and the 'all flock to me' personas."

"She's not like that. She's-"

"-Exactly like the rest of the clones in Hollywood."

Jesse shook his head and pushed the sunglasses further up his nose, signalling the end of the conversation. Cynthia Rose threw her hands up in the air in frustration before turning to walk away.

"Isn't she the one who collects ducks?"

Cynthia Rose paused at the back gate and looked over her shoulder. She was surprised to see Jesse not two foot behind her as she'd not seen or heard him move.

"Mr Swanson, Beca Mitchell is one of the most famous people in America. She's won every music award invented. She's got the number one song in the country _right_ now and she'll probably be nominated for an Oscar in her very first picture. She's beautiful, smart, funny and let's face it, has a pretty impressive rack. But your only question, the only thing you want to know if she is the one who collects … Jesus, man, where've you been?"

"You mean, she doesn't collect ducks?" Jesse asked, his expression showing nothing.

"Yes." Cynthia Rose sighed. "Yes, she collects ducks."

"I _thought_ I knew who she was." Jesse said, a hint of something resembling a smile threatening to post itself on his mouth. Cynthia Rose looked at him, trying to decide whether he was kidding or not but Jesse's face gave nothing away. Instead she nodded to the post on the other side of the garden.

"You're probably deadly with these things, aren't you?" She asked, indicating a set of throwing knives by the post.

"Deadly." Jesse stated, backing away slightly, heading back in the direction of his lawn chair.

"Show me?" Cynthia Rose asked and huffed out her cheeks when Jesse sat down instead. "Why are you resisting this job? It's two thousand bucks a week."

She paused while she let that figure sink in a little.

"Two thousand, five hundred?"

"Look, I just don't want the hassle. There are several good men available for that kind of money. Have you talked to Applebaum or Viruet? Saying that, that guy rides a unicycle so avoid him. What about Bryant?"

"Yeah. Applebaum was interested …" Cynthia Rose said, crouching down in front of Jesse. She could sense that he was wavering slightly. "... but we're told that you're the _best_."

"There's no such thing." Jesse deadpanned.

"Swanson, get your head out of your ass. We're talking about a very frightened lady. With a two young children. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think this was for real." Cynthia Rose said imploringly. "Look, Jesse, she _begged_ me to get you; there, are you happy now?!"

"All right. All right. All right. I'll come and I'll look the situation over. If I take it, it's four thousand a week. Plus expenses."

He got up from the lounger and walked over to the post, picking up the knives one at a time.

"Okay. You must be very deadly for three grand a week."

"I said four." Jesse repeated, fitting the knives in between his fingers. He shot a look over at Beca Mitchell's personal manager as he strode determinedly across the lawn. He liked her persistence. He raised his hand above his head and flung the knives towards the post. Cynthia Rose felt the rush of air as they flew past her, missing her by no more than a foot. Each one hit the post, sitting neatly in a vertical line. Cynthia Rose whistled.

"I don't do celebrities which is why my usual price for those over achievers is ten a week. But you had to go and mention the children, didn't you?"

"See you at 'auditions'!" Cynthia Rose laughed out.

**.o0o.**

**_Hollywood Hills - Mitchell Mansion_**

Jesse pulled up in to the driveway and double checked the address on the slip of paper he had. Confident he was in the right place, he nudged the car further up the driveway so that he cleared him off the road. He looked around him, taking in the heavy vegetation, the crumbling walls and the run down guards post right by the solid but rusty mechanical set of gates.

He looked right and left; the constant vigilance an ingrained habit. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, a sign he knew well. He twisted in the seat of his beaten up Camaro, catching sight of a black Toyota 4x4, parked one hundred or so down the street. Jesse hadn't noticed it on the way in and as he began to turn fully to check the vehicle out, it suddenly sprang into life and accelerated past the driveway, causing the Camaro to rock slightly.

Jesse sat in the drive way for a good half an hour. He was usually early everywhere he went and took pride in his time keeping. Similar to his appearance. He had more suits and heavily starched shirts than a good sizes Neiman Marcus would stock and his shoes were always unnecessarily over polished. He checked his hair in the rear view mirror and started the engine, making a mental note that no one had come to ask why he was parked on the driveway for a length of time without announcing his arrival.

He pulled up to an old intercom, pressing the call button and waited. He heard a wave of static but no one answered so he pressed the button again, noting that the intercom, mounted onto a broken off pool cue was held together with bits of duct tape. The transmission was terrible but he soon heard a deep female voice crackle through the white noise.

"Yes?"

"It's Jesse Swanson to see Miss Mitchell.

"Wuuuuuut?" The voice drawled on the other end and Jesse bit down on his lip to hide his frustration.

"I said, it's the Dalai Lama to see Miss Mitchell."

"Um, do … *crackle* you have an *hiss* appointment."

"I have juice pouches and Rocky."

"Wuuuut?"

"A capella is my co-pilot."

"All right. Turn *hiss* left at the top *white noise* driveway."

The loud buzzing brought Jesse's attention immediately to the gates in front of him. He observed with interest the speed in which they opened, clanking loudly and groaning like an old lady doing yoga. Jesse's mind was working overtime as he slowly drove up the long, twisting driveway. He noted tall trees, more heavy landscaping and of course the large mansion on top of the hill. He counted at least thirty different places for someone to hide.

Without meaning to, he was impressed by the size of the house as he pulled up outside what he assumed was the main door. He parked up next to a blonde wearing a squirrel onesie. She was hard at work, polishing and buffing a large, black limousine, paying extra attention to the mascot on the front of the hood. She turned to stare at him as he opened his door, putting down her cloth and almost dancing towards him.

Ignoring her, Jesse took in the rest of the landscape before him, spying a painters truck to the left where two men were emptying equipment from it.

"Can I help yoos?"

Jesse turned and saw that the blonde was still walking towards him.

"Are you the person on the intercom?" Jesse asked.

"No." She said, shaking out her polishing cloth, sending a shower of dust flies all over Jesse's impeccable suit. He noticed the thick, heavy bandage on her arm. "Can I help yoos?"

"My name is Chris Cringle. I have an appointment with Miss Mitchell."

"Oh, cool. And that was arranged by ...?"

"Miss Adams." Jesse said, impressed by the question.

"Go right ahead then Mr Cringle. Have a nice day."

"What happened to your arm?" He asked, watching her as she pulled her sleeve back over the bandage.

"A doll."

While Jesse was slightly confused by the last statement, he didn't let on. He simply turned from the chauffer and alighted up the three steps to the large porch area and the wooden front door with a large brass knocker in the shape of a treble clef. He quickly spotted that two of the lights were broken and the fake security camera aimed at the front door was fooling no one.

He reached out his hand to ring the doorbell, frowning as he realised the door was unlocked and open to anyone. He waited for a couple of minutes before the door was pulled open by a handyman who nodded to him as he walked past.

Jesse stepped, unannounced, into the foyer of the house and was immediately impressed. The marble floor held the grand oak staircase in all its splendour and he sneaked a glance up to the ceiling to see the custom made chandelier sparkling with the light bouncing in from all windows. The detail in the drops was incredibly, the musical notes held the small diamonds perfectly.

"Hello, can I help you?"

Jesse's neck snapped back to where it should be and he took in a tall, slim girl with long wavy hair in front of him. She stood, leaning heavily on one hip, filing her nails.

"Yes, Michael Mouse to see Miss Adams and Miss Mitchell."

"Sure, this way. I'm Stacie by the way."

Jesse followed Stacie off to the left. He caught sight of a couple of the rooms on the way through. There was an formal living room with a couple of large, high backed sofas and a coffee table, all decadent and plush. He passed a brightly coloured play room, filled with toys and a large, wall mounted television. Stacie popped her head into each room as they walked past.

"I'll tell you quite honestly, Mr Mouse, I don't know where Miss Adams is. Did she say she'd be here?"

"Yes." Jesse said, doing his best to keep his emotions in check. He took the time to have a good look around the house, noting all the points of entry, the open windows and the lackadaisical way in which he was just allowed to wander through someone's home.

"Then she'll be somewhere around." Stacie said, tucking her nail file back into her pocket. "Probably in the studio with everyone else."

They passed by three or four more rooms until they came to the kitchen. It was in here that Jesse could hear a cacophony of sounds and he instantly got a sensory overload as soon as they had walked through the kitchen, crossing the room and off to a discreet side door that lead into a large, open studio.

The room itself was flanked by a huge wall of televisions, some showing the football, others playing various music channels. The largest television in the middle of the room was showing video playback from the scene that was taking place right now. There were at least twenty five people in the room, some dancers, some production staff and a couple of people in suits. Bodies were moving everywhere, limbs flinging around in patterns that Jesse couldn't fathom and the music was so loud, it was hurting his ears; it simply served to remind him why he hated the lifestyle of the famous. Stacie indicated to a small seating area.

"Please make yourself at home." She said warmly. "Can I get you anything?"

Jesse shook his head and cast his eyes to the ceiling before taking in the abundance of equipment in the room. It was impossible to think in the crazily loud noise and hubbub. He cleared his throat and tried to steady his mind, taking himself back to a calmer place and time as he observed the semi naked dancers. He didn't recognise the style of music; it appeared to be a mash up of sorts and he couldn't understand why anyone would do that.

He stood for a good fifteen minutes before anyone even so much as looked his way. Jesse was aware of a very intense set of blue eyes watching him from across the room. Her hands were busy with notebooks, documents and a couple of children's hand drawn pictures and she had an expensive laptop perched on her knee. His eyes were drawn to a shock of ginger curls and a very warm smile that showed perfect white teeth.

He didn't return the acknowledgement.

Instead, his eyes floated over to the tall blonde who was clearly discussing something important on the phone. Her full concentration was on the tablet clutched tightly in her hand as she ran her other hand nervously over her stomach.

All of a sudden the music stopped and Jesse felt his ears send up a silent prayer. He saw a dark skinned man appear in the midst of the dancers, clapping his hands to the group.

"Playback everyone!" He said, twirling his hands around before pointing at the screen.

"Come here Donald!" A female voice rang out from somewhere in the room and Donald headed over towards a single seater sofa, pausing in front of it and talking to the occupant. There was an unwelcome sound of laughter and a big sloppy kiss being planted somewhere. Jesse flared his nostrils and felt his fingers twitch in annoyance. "Dude, that's gonna be awesome! I love the ending."

Jesse's eyes snapped to the right as Cynthia Rose entered the room, making a beeline directly for him. He tried to focus on her as the noise levels began to rise in the room again. Cynthia Rose turned just before she reached Jesse.

"Beca?" She said, quite softly. Jesse wondered why everyone seemed to be pandering to the 'frightened lady' that he'd been told about.

He didn't have time to wonder why he'd not yet met the infamous Beca Mitchell yet, despite this being her house, as she began to call out to the curly hair ginger girl on the other side of the room.

"Chloe, how'd you like the number huh? You like the end routine? Better than the choreography that you suggested from last year, right?"

"Beca?" Cynthia Rose tried again.

"Beca, you wanna see it back from the beginning or just the ending?" Donald asked Beca.

"It was just great Donald, really." Chloe answered for Beca who had already moved on to talk to someone else.

"I want to see it all." Beca said, shooting a look to Chloe that smelt of _'don't you know who I am?'_. "Bumper? I'll bet Bumper loved it. Where is that weirdo?"

A stocky man with a face like a badger uncurled himself from the floor where he was currently having a nap.

"Meh." Bumper said, before scratching his backside.

"Don't worry Donny, Bumper doesn't appreciate great art when he sees it. Dude failed at launching his own brand of sports sandals."

Bumper stood and shrugged his shoulders before eventually catching sight of Jesse. He looked confused before walking over to the small bar area and helping himself to a can of soda. The music began to play loudly again.

"Lilly!"

A small, quiet Asian girl crossed the room, keeping close to the wall. She startled as someone called out her name and immediately pulled out a comb from her pocket and ran it through her fringe several times.

"Costumes are awesome dude and just what we had in mind. We were really listening to each other. Where's Cynthia Rose? I need her opinion."

"Beca, Jesse Swanson is-" Cynthia Rose began to speak.

"Why are you back there weirdo." Beca's voice rang out across the room. Jesse was not impressed by the girl at all, especially since she hadn't moved from her chair. He'd yet to lay eyes on her. "What do you think of Lilly's latest costumes?"

"They're terrific." Cynthia Rose concluded and nodded to Lilly who scuttled away through a doorway. "Beca, Jesse Swanson is here."

"Who?" Beca called back as Chloe brought her over a tall glass of beer, hovering slightly until she was sure Beca wasn't going to hand it back to her.

"Jesse Swanson." Cynthia Rose repeated and waited for a response. "The bodyguard."

"I already have a bodyguard. He's shit but cheap."

"Beca!"

"What?"

"Get your butt out of that and come and meet this man."

"Urgh, okay, okay." Came the huffed out reply as an overly exaggerated display of someone getting out of a chair happened. Chloe shot a look towards Jesse as the volume in the room threatened to deafen everyone.

Jesse felt all of the breath leave his body as Beca Mitchell stood up. He felt his heart began to race as she turned towards him. All sounds disappeared from around him and all he heard was silence. His fingers went numb as she took a step towards him and as she came to within six feet of him, he felt a lump rise in his throat.

He swallowed hard to be able to breathe.

She locked eyes on him as she stood, crossing her arms in front of her. Jesse got lost for a moment as she stared into the swirling vortex that had become her eyes. He took in her tiny frame encased in expensive demin and a tight fitting shirt that showed off every perfect curve. He watched as a loose curl of her chocolate hair bounced and settled on her shoulder and he couldn't take his eyes off of her mouth as she spoke.

"Well ... I'm up!"

_'I think I am too.'_ Jesse thought.


End file.
